Ice Cream
I met Janine in the Parc Monceau. He was good, very good at being a girl, but I know a sissy boy when I see one, and I knew that he was one. So I approached him and said, "It is a hot day. How about I buy you an ice cream. Wouldn't you like that?"
She looked at me hardly knowing whether I had figured her out or whether she had me fooled. So she said in her most girly manner. "Thank you, but my mother told me when I was a little girl not to take candy from strangers, even if," she added, blushing, teasing, "they are handsome strangers."
"What could be a better combination on a hot day like this than a handsome stranger buying a beautiful girl an ice cream?"
"No strings attached?"
"Is that a promise you really want me to make?"
"You are forward. I think I should just say `Thank you but no thanks,' and be on my way."
"But you are not going to do that."
"How do you know?"
"I can tell by your lips."
"My lips? How can you tell by my lips?"
"Let me buy you an ice cream, and I'll tell you."
By this time we were standing in line in front of one of those purple and beige gourmet ice cream carts with a big umbrella over it.
I ordered a big two-scoop raspberry and lime cone for her, without asking her what flavors she wanted.
"What about you?" she said, batting her eyes.
"It'll be more fun if I share yours."
"I knew there was a catch," she said. "I ought not let you, but they are my favorite flavors," she said touching her lips to the top ball of lime ice cream, pursing her lips to taste it, as if she were kissing it.
"There," I said, "I'm never wrong."
"About what?" she asked.
"About lips."
"What about lips?" she said pouting with girlish impatience.
"Take another taste of your ice cream," I said.
"First, tell me."
"No, first take another taste."
"Oh, alright," she said, "but you are the most annoying boy I have ever met."
"Do what I say," I said, indicating she take another lick of ice cream.
As she bent her head and her lips touched the ice cream, I wrapped my palm around the hand that held the cone to keep it steady and touched my lips to the ice cream, too, but no sooner than I did that than I moved my lips but a centimeter and touched her lips with my lips. She shivered when I did, but did not back away. Instead she licked the ice cream with her tongue and in doing that licked my tongue as I licked hers.
We looked at each other and smiled.
"I like ice cream," she said.
"I knew you did," I said as we began to walk to the gate and out onto the Boulevard Monceau. "And I like your lips," I said.
"Do you want another lick," she said, first licking the ice cream, which was beginning to melt and then offering her lips to me.
Her name was Janine she said. She threw herself on me when we were riding up in the elevator and pressed her lips to mine and rubbed herself against me. I could feel her penis was slender and hard little thing. She knew I did, and she blushed.
"I didn't fool you?" she said.
"Not for a minute," I answered.
As I turned the key in the lock, I told Janine I had a roommate but that she shouldn't worry.
"You'll like him," I said, "and he'll like you."
Unfortunately, he was not at home and we were alone. I turned on the air conditioning, not that it was very hot in the apartment but because I wanted it to be cold. Some guys when they get a girl in their place, they want to get her clothes off her, but I was looking at Janine who was hardly wearing anything except a scarlet-colored tank top and a pair of kaki shorts and sandals, and I knew that with a body like hers I wanted to see her all dressed up.
"I like your place," she said, turning around the room and looking out the windows at the park.
"I'm glad you're here," I said, "but there are rules you have to follow."
"Rules?"
"My rules. You have to do what I tell you to do. Are you ok with that?"
Janine looked at me with those big innocent eyes of hers.
"I don't know what I'm letting myself in for," she said, "and a girl who was using her head would leave right now, but I don't feel like using my head. I'm not sure I even can. You're not going to hurt me?"
"Just the opposite," I said. "You were made to be loved. I am going to place you on a pedestal and adore you. That is the only harm I will do, and I warn you before hand, you may never want to come down."
"You are pretty sure of yourself, aren't you," Janine said with a pretty toss of her head.
"I am pretty sure of you," I said, and taking her around the waist I drew her to me and took her breath away with a kiss that left her fallen limp in my arms.
"I think I'm in danger," she said.
"You are," I said. "Just hold on tight."
I stripped her of her clothes and pulled my things off too and led her to the bathroom and into the shower. I gently soaped her delicate boy body and dried her. I looked at her standing on the white terry mat on the tile floor.
"You are beautiful as a boy, too. But tonight you will stay a girl. Come," I said, taking her hand, leading her into the dressing room.
Now, for the first time, as Janine stood unclothed in his dressing room, she saw Laurent, unclothed too, toweling his long curly dark hair, his arms raised, his chest rippling with the movement he made drying his hair, and for the first time, she saw him. She had been too busy being Janine when he approached her and when he bought her ice cream and when he excited her with kisses and caresses to notice him. All she could think of was herself. All she noticed then was her own sense of herself as the object of his desire, and the exciting sensations he aroused in her. But now she saw that he was not only handsome. He was beautiful. His body was lithe like a swimmer boy but at the same time it was soft and delicate and curvy, just as feminine as hers. Suddenly she was in awe of him.
"I don't know your name," she said.
He laughed. "I don't know yours, either."
"It's Janine. Tell me yours."
"Laurent," he said.
"Hello, Laurent."
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, and just whispered her name. He did not let go her hand. Holding it, he led her to a built-in oak armoire. "Look," he said.
"This is better than Printemps," she said, with a captivating giggle. I don't know what to choose."
"You don't have to. I will choose for you."
He gave her silver bikini panties to wear. They were trimmed with black lace. She looked at herself in the mirror and hugged herself. Then she put on a lacy black garter belt with silver suspenders to fasten to the sheer rose tinted stockings, circled at the top around her thighs by a scarlet band. He knelt before her, as she sat looking at herself in the three-sided mirror on the vanity and fitted her with silver, open toe, ankle strap high heels.
"Stand up," he ordered. She stepped into a pale pink, snug, lacy A-line mini skirt that just let you see her garter straps and panties. It fell below her bare midriff showing her soft flat tummy. He chose a skin-tight, burnt umber shoulderless silk top with three quarter fitted sleeves. He covered her lips with rose gloss, and circled her eyes with burnt umber and dusted her lids with burnt umber, matching her top. He styled her hair in a pixie cut, polished her nails with a rose lacquer to match her lipstick and did not adorn her with any jewelry at all.
"Look at yourself now," he said when he was finished.
Inside her panties her little penis swelled with longing and her nipples ached with yearning. Her lips parted and her eyes were lost in dreaminess.
"What about you?" she said.
Laurent unfastened the towel from around his waist. Janine went weak in the knees fascinated by the grace and strength of his naked body and the allure of his beautiful penis, the most beautiful penis she had ever seen.
"I have never had such a feeling before, and I don't understand it, but – it's out of my control – I want to worship you. May I touch it?"
Laurent smiled. "I want to get dressed," he said.
"I want to kiss it," she said.
He smiled and took her hand and placed it on his swelling cock.
"Ooh," she exclaimed, gently closing her palm around it and feeling its weight. How hard it was, but how soft to the touch.
Laurent touched her lips gently with his finger tip. She kissed it demurely.
"Don't you want me to get dressed?"
"I'm afraid of what I want."
"What's that?"
"If I tell you, I'm a goner."
He caressed her cheek.
"This is all happening so fast. I'm dizzy."
"A little champagne will take care of that."
"You must be kidding," she said.
"You'll see," he answered. "I know a great dive in Montmartre where we can dance to Cole Porter and drink champagne. Let me get dressed," he said. Pouting, she reluctantly let go of his penis.
It took him much less time to get into a pair of slim faded jeans, a tight-fitting burnt umber long-sleeve scoop-neck t-shirt and calf-caressing brown kidskin boots. He combed his hair and knotted a beige scarf round his neck. It had gotten chilly enough to put on a zip-up brown leather jacket.
There is a dive in Montmartre called 1947, hidden on a street beside the Sacre Coeur. There, a jazz combo, piano, sax, and drums play retro, to dance to jazz, Cole Porter, Harold Arlen, Rogers and Hart, etc. Murray, the owner, a refugee from the Bronx some forty years ago, has kept the place cozy, authentic, and affordable. It would look like a cliché representation of a French café, except that it's the real thing.
They drank Laurent-Perier and danced. Laurent held her close and Janine nuzzled in the hollow of his neck.
"I'm afraid I'm falling in love with you," she said.
"Why does that make you afraid?"
"Because love makes you vulnerable."
"I want you to be vulnerable," he said, and kissed her.
She felt congestion in her little slender penis that radiated to her thighs. It made them part ever so slightly. It gave her walk a lovely sexiness.
"Let's go home," she said. "I want you to fuck me like I've never wanted anyone."
He traced his fingertips across her lips and kissed her.
"There's something you should know," Janine said, blushing as Laurent took her in his arms.
He looked at her with a kind, questioning smile, waiting for her to continue.
"I've never...I've never been...I'm a virgin," she managed to say and began to cry.
"Why does that make you cry?" Laurent said, gently.
"Because I want you to fuck me. I want to give myself to you. I want you to take me. But I'm afraid you won't take me if you know I have never been...that I am...inexperienced...that I won't be able to...I don't know."
"Do you want to?" Laurent asked, gently touching her cheek.
"Yes," she said, shaking.
He pressed her to him and felt her tremors shake within him, too. He stroked the hair at her temple away from her face and caressed the back of her head. With his right hand he felt, between her legs, her dainty penis, beneath her silken panties. She emitted a string of tiny sighs, of high-pitched pigeon coos, and at the same time, the trembling of her body ceased. Her skin flushed and she grasped his upper arms below the shoulders with her fingers and dug them into him. She drew back and looked at him with dreamy eyes. He gazed into them with desire gilded by love. He slid his hand under her panties, undid her garter straps, stroked her thighs, and held her fragile eggs in the palm of his hand. With feathery gentleness, his fingers danced across her perineum, and found the slit behind.
She clutched him tighter when he took his hand away. "Don't stop," she said.
"I'm not," he said, and dipped his fingers into a small jar of lubricant on the table by the bedside, and probed her hole gently until she gasped to feel him inside her. It was a feeling of fullness, of completeness she had never known and always wished for without knowing what it was she was wishing for. She wrapped her arms around him, and held the back of his neck, and kissed him with overflowing gratitude. Without even thinking, she spread her legs and stretched them upwards, raising her rump in offering. Their thighs touched. He anointed his cock with lubricant and began the descent into her, lifting and descending, each time deeper until his upward thrusts did not part them but pulled her pressed to him, up with him. She felt his love inside her circling like the rings of Saturn, molten glowing, breaking, flashing in iridescent spinning fragments. She heard her cries and breathless screaming, as what might have been pain erupted into flooding pleasure.
Janine woke to feel Laurent kissing her, his hand gently on her delicate penis, fingering a thrilling melody, touching all the stops. She kissed him. Her eyes were wide and bright like a child's in the morning, shining, without the shadow of anxiety disturbing them.
"I don't know anything about you, Laurent," Janine said, as they sat in the Café Le Courcelles, "except that I love you and need to belong to you. Is that crazy?"
Laurent ignored the question and said, "What would you like to know about me?"
"I don't know," Janine said, biting her index finger. "What do you do for a living?"
"I am the music director, I program the music for Radio France. And you?"
"Believe it or not, I have a degree in Art History and I am a tour guide at the Musée d'Orsay."
"Why shouldn't I believe it?" Laurent asked.
"Because I must look like such a flighty little thing to you."
From across the round café table, Laurent took her hand in his, and did not let it go. He penetrated the depth of her eyes, and said, "You look like the most beautiful, the most wonderful, the most complete and thrilling feminine boy I have ever met."